


Arya's Pleasure

by Sarahopstan



Category: Original Work
Genre: BDSM, Dom/sub, Dom/sub Play, Dominance, Domme, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Femdom, Light Dom/sub, Mistress, Mistress/slave, Sexual Slavery, Slavery, Submission, Submissive, male slave, mistress/servant
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:28:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23613787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarahopstan/pseuds/Sarahopstan
Summary: In a world where the Enlightened had taken over, where humans are no more than commodities to be sold and bought, Isaac is used goods.A human that is no longer a shiny toy, but a slave passed down from a Mistress who no longer had any need for him.He is bought for a young mistress who is ready to take a chance on him however, as she has no other choice.This is the story of Arya and Isaac.Updated every Friday
Relationships: Arya/Isaac
Comments: 12
Kudos: 45





	1. Chapter 1

It happened one very cold night at House Burnsell. 

I had looked everywhere for her. The kitchens, dungeon, music room, and even the dorms; our handlers didn't believe they should separate girls from boys as they all were conditioned to be at ease with each other, they were pleasure slaves, after all, modesty would never be part of our lives. 

I only noticed her absence at the dinner table. We shared our meals, she taking my veggies and I taking her meat. They were too hard on her stomach, and when the hall was all but full, the three hundred slaves all taking their places and the meal starting did I realize that I hadn't seen her since the morning. I'd gotten up in a hurry, my chair crashed and the table shook. A handler quickly made his way to me, asking what I thought I was doing. I wanted to heave out my frustration, shout. I had a very bad feeling about this. Instead, I righted the chair, lowering my head, showing the expected respect, replying calmly, "Bathroom break, Sir. I need to use the bathroom, may I?"

Squinting, he looked me up and down, his eyes flying to the empty space where she usually sat. For a fleeting moment, I thought he'd take out the electric wand, shock me into oblivion and have me dragged to the dungeons. It wasn't uncommon, and I did disturb the meal, all eyes were on me, slaves had stopped eating to look at the source of the disturbance. 

But he only nodded, and I ran. 

Lana was gone. 

She'd only gotten her tattoo last week, didn't even get the chance to wear it long enough or show it off. She'd worked so hard for it.

Slaves disappeared all the time. Either sold privately in an early auction, or simply failing to complete a task a trainer deemed important enough to make or break a slave. It could be anything. Possibilities were endless. 

My infatuation with her, as fellow slaves liked to tease me about it, was bound to be the reason for a great deal of pain and suffering anyway. But not so soon. Never had I thought that I'd have to give her up so soon. We still had a year. A year where we'd share punishment and pleasure, where we'd share a mattress, where we'd wake up in each other's arms. A trainer once joked that he would consider it, selling us as a package, we made a pretty pair, she'd said, crying for each other's pain, pleasuring each other, our tongues and hands intertwined. 

It was a fairytale, I knew then, as I know now. One where I'd be sold alongside her, where we'd serve a couple together, where we'd see each other everyday. Share the same home and rules and expectations.

But it was just that. A fairytale. One that's been ripped away from me. One that would never come to anything. 

My body shook, sobs racking my being, and I blindly reached out to hold to something, anything. There was nothing. She wasn't there, and I fell into despair.


	2. Chapter 2

Five years later

They were looking for a used boy, they said. 

I wasn't evesdroping, per se, but they were standing only a few feet away, and they weren't trying to be discreet, either. They were free people, and free people had no reason to be demure or keep their voices down, no punishment ensued if they managed their affairs noisily, or if they fought amongst themselves.

They didn't want a boy fresh off the racks, one with a little experience would do wonderfully, experience servicing a woman, that is. And preferably young. 

I had no delusion of myself being the object of discussion, I only stayed with my first Mistress for three years, it was cut short by an unforseen accident, and after she'd spent six months in coma, her family had decided that they had no use for me beyond staying alongside her sick bed, and made the decision to sell me back to my original house, for a fraction of the price Mistress bought me for.

Three months later, I was back at the place I spent my late childhood in. They've been using me to train their youngsters, trainers were fond of me once upon a time, and I was popular merchandise.

It seems that my days as a hand would be cut short, however. 

The trainer crooked a finger, and I followed the other woman obediently, she said nothing, barely sparing me a glance. I only had a second to see my trainer's expression, she didn't look pleased. 

In the waiting area, three other male slaves were waiting, all around my age, all used merchandise. The woman who brought me ordered us to strip before handing us a black plastic bag to discard our cloths. 

She left with the bag, seemingly done with her assignment. 

Not a few minutes later, a well dressed, middle aged couple came in, they were accompanied by a man I knew well, he was the one who handled my first sale, Mr Rosch. He looked to be wearing the same dark green suit, his hair slicked back into a low ponytail and his ear pierced. He was nothing if not flashy. 

The couple looked stricken to see us, exchanged a look with Mr Rosch, who looked just as surprised. Perhaps they had the wrong room. It appeared not, however, because Mr Rosch whipped back to apologise to the couple immediately. "I'll have them presentable in no time. My assistant in new, a bit out of touch. Please, this way,"

He led them out. And we exchanged a look. This was standard procedure, naked and ready for inspection. It was how all pleasure slaves were sold, how will the potential owner know whether or not any of us would be a good fit if not. And what did he mean presentable, we couldn't possibly wear suits and shiny shoes. Half of the appeal was the accessibility we presented. 

Not minutes later, the assistant came back in, looking flustered. She had the plastic garbage bag with her, and we were ordered to put our cloths back on. 

The slaves with me seemed baffled, but they obeyed, one of them murmuring under his breath. The assistant motioned for that slave to follow her, and he did, looking even more confused. 

It seemed they were interviewing each candidate seperately, privately. And I was left for last. By the time she came to fetch me, I was on pins and needles, agitated beyond measure, none of the other three returned. 

She led me to another room, one that didn't look like a viewing room at all. I assumed it was Mr. Rosch's office, but he was nowhere to be seen. The assistant only entered to bring the couple a file that she brought out of a rack, and then left, not saying a word. 

I looked around nervously, this was not how things usually went, and without instructions, I was completely lost. 

The woman spoke first, motioning for the chair facing them, "Please, sit."

"We only want to talk," The man I assumed was her husband said. 

I obeyed, keeping my eyes down. Something they quickly rectified by asking me to look at them. We're having a conversation, they said. 

The woman opened the file. My file, while her husband explained, "We're looking for a slave for out daughter."

I wanted to ask him where she was, why she wasn't here. This would be an investment, one that cost time and coin. I'd think the woman in question be here to see what she was getting. But I held my tongue, and nodded. The man went on, "We don't want a pet, or a mindless creature following her around, well, you'd follow her around alright, but, well-" 

The man looked at his wife, as if asking for assistance, which she provided, "My daughter is troubled, she is unwell, she needs someone to take care of her."

I thought he meant she was sick, and in these cases, families usually hired nurses, or ordinary slaves, ones that were much cheaper and much more efficient than a pleasure slaves. Ones that didn't cost as much. I wondered if this was the reason they were asking for a used slave.

But then the woman spoke again, "She parties a lot, and drinks too much, she gets home very late every night. She is wild and out of control, volatile."

This was nothing like I've ever experienced. Owners did not sit with slaves and explain why they were buying them. They did not sit with slaves, period. They were explaining the situation as though I had the right to refuse, or say no, as though they were talking to a friend whom they hoped would sympathise. 

I nodded, because I couldn't think of anything to say. And that seemed to do it, because the woman went on, "The slaves at our home usually take care of her, and our driver keeps an eye on her, but she is leaving the city, going to the capital very soon. And she needs a slave. She insists it be a pleasure slave."


	3. Chapter 3

The couple were thorough in their explanation, and just as thorough with their expectations. There was a list they kept getting back to, ticking off items as though they were grocery shopping. And that, I was familiar with. Familiar enough to finally feel at ease. 

Apparently, I matched the physique they were looking for the most, black hair, taller than 6"5 but shorter than 7"9. They referred to my file often, and they were pleased enough with me to consider moving into the next step, as they put it. And that's where they lost me, because I had thought the next step meant purchasing me, transferring ownership papers and taking me with them. 

That's where I was wrong. 

Their refusal to meet any of us naked did not mean they weren't going to test the purchase, it only meant that they refused to do it themselves, and would have someone do it on behalf of their daughter. 

And that's how I found myself, three days later, in a viewing room with two other slaves, a male and a female, Thom and Sera.

I had greeted them on my knees, as was customary, and heard the wheeze of the the slave who later introduced himself as Thom, as he laughed softly, "She'll like that," he said. "Greeting her like that would be a very smart move." 

"I'm not doing this to be smart," I wanted to retort, but I bit my tongue, and swallowed it. Displeasing these two would only work to my disadvantage, they were my future mistress's invoices. 

"Alright, then!" The woman said. Then to my surprise, proceeded to take off her work dress before Thom stopped her. "Not yet," he said, his voice chiding. "He'll do that for you, it's his job."

Then he turned to me, "You'll need to raise your head for the next part," Thom said. "But don't meet her eyes yet." 

I obeyed, resisting the urge to roll my eyes, he was speaking as though he were my trainer, and I was a novice. I was trained for this, it was my job, and he was making it out to be mechanical, instead of sensual. 

"You'll pretend Sera here is your mistress, and you'll act accordingly," he explained, and I nodded. I gathered as much. "I'll watch, and I may give you pointers, as I'm familiar with what she likes."

"Shall I-" 

"Proceed. Yes. I've never been one to watch, so this should be fun." He retreated to a chair in the corner, while Sera looked around as though lost.

I lowered my hands to the ground, going to crawl, a tactic I thought he'd like, since he just praised me for greeting them on my knees earlier. 

My initiative was rewarded by a low whistle, followed be, "You can sit on the bed, Sera darling, be at ease."

The woman, indeed, was tense, tense enough that she almost jumped when I lowered my head to her feet. The man stood, approached to take off his own shoes and get on the bed, right behind Sera, and place both hands on her shoulders to steady her, "Easy now, darling." 

Sera let out a breath, and I sneaked a look at Thom, he said he was familiar with what she likes, that probably meant he'd serviced my mystery of a potential owner. Meaning she liked him enough to let him approach. I wanted to see the man I was replacing. He was no pleasure slave, if what her parents said was anything to go by, but he could've passed for one. His black hair came in waves that stopped at his shoulders, cheekbones defined and mouth luscious, and then the black eyes that met mine head on as he noticed me staring. 

I ducked me head, he was gorgeous. Why anyone would want to replace him was beyond me. Perhaps it was the frivolous, giddy attitude that suggested lack of discipline. But then again, I was only a slave, he had no reason to be respectful nor careful with what he says. 

"You may continue," he said, his voice amused, "Sera shall behave now."

I obeyed, "Yes, sir." 

"Just Thom," he corrected. 

"Yes, Thom." I repeated, before extending a hand, my voice demure, I said, "May I?"

Sera did not reply, and Thom's voice drifted again, "You may, good boy for asking."

The dynamic was new to me, foreign. I was used to taking my orders from women, I was trained so, and that left me to drift off mentally as I worked my fingers on the clasps of her shoes. These were simple and were undone in mere seconds, so unlike the ones with multiple straps free women liked to wear. Her feet in my hands, I messaged them, running my hands over them, and she shuddered, clearly enjoying the sensation. 

I heard Thom's whisper somewhere above, and a second later, her fingers were on my head, shyly guiding me up. "Rougher, pull his hair," he directed. 

This man was too controlling, his voice too authoritative to simply be a slave, how he got by was a mystery to me. She obeyed, of course, as he instructed her to open her legs, "only slightly, honey, he'll have to do the work to make you want more. This should come naturally, are you wet yet?"

Sera nodded, still guiding me closer. I rested my head on her knee, my hands nimbly working to raise her dress, but was stopped by Thom's hand pushing my head away, snapping "You don't put your head on her thigh unless invited. Go underneath the dress, now, kiss her inner thighs, get her more excited. I'm not going to teach you how to do your job."

Bobbing my head, I whispered, in spite of me, "Yes sir,"

This time, however, he didn't correct me. He was more intent on having me pleasure the woman in his arms. He watched intently as I kissed her thighs, then licked them, as I moved with purpose to the place I knew would bring the most pleasure. He intervened again as I lapped at her juices, buried my face in her, "Hum as you do it, she likes the humming."

I obeyed, again wondering why anyone would want to replace a slave who knew her so well with another, even if that another was a trained one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looking for a beta reader/editor. If you're available, please email me at sarahopstan@outlook.com to let me know.


	4. Chapter 4

Sera shuddered, her chest heaving, and her legs buckling, but she made no other sound. As though conditioned to keep silent under all circumstances.

She was silent until she was not, and when she finally came, her leg moved involuntarily, and she kicked me in the shin. As she was reduced to a puddle of apologies, coming out of her after-shocks in a haze, Thom didn't seem bothered. He stood up, came closer to inspect the hit, before declaring it just fine.

I tried to assure Sera, but the man silenced me with a laugh, adding, "I should've just shackled her, that speaks of your abilities, eh, Sera?"

She nodded, avoiding my gaze, "He was good."

"Of course he was, now lay back."

She obeyed, and he motioned for me to come closer, only to stop me after a second, "Maybe have her ride you, what do you think?"

I licked my lips. I've been practicing on my trainers every night, and as I helped with new recruits, I couldn't possibly turn rusty, but I still felt so. Training and servicing are two very different things. And although Sera acted nothing like a mistress would, I still was servicing her.

My answer was standard, "Whatever you need me to do, I'll do."

"Obviously," he drawled, rolling his eyes. Then said, "We'll do both. You did admirably well on the first part, although Sera was anything but convincing in her role."

She started apologizing immediately, and he cut her off with a silencing motion. "That's exactly what I'm talking about. Arya would never apologize."

Arya. The name sounded just as mystical as she was. Just as mysterious.

"Missionary position it is, then." Thom ordered.

He watched us as we found out places, purring, "That should present as a difficult task, showing submission while in a position of power. You'll make him hold it, Sera, won't you?"

It was posed as a question, but it was no question. And Sera nodded, again, perhaps for the seventh time, promising to do just that.

Which she did, she strung if out for an hour, before she finally came. She didn't seem anywhere near tired, seemingly at ease after it subsuded. But then again, I was doing all the work, whilst she laid there unmoving. I had started begging minutes into the intercourse, and she answered me with shaking her head every time. She allowed me a minute to catch my breath and get myself under control twice in that first hour.

When I thought I no longer could hold it, she pushed me off. It was the first initiative she pulled without prompting. "Now I'll ride you," she said, as though in warning.

She pulled both my hands up, gathering them in her hands, undoubtedly trying to restrict my movement. I wanted to tell her that she needn't do that, that I would keep my hands off of her if so ordered. But of course, said nothing. It wasn't my place. And perhaps it was the rush of power she wanted, anyway. The feeling of her hands clasped around my wrists that brought her the rush.

It took only seconds for her to reach her completion, it was her third orgasm in two hours, and it seemed to have been the one that took all her energy with it, as she went to lay on top of me, my cock still hard inside her.

I let her, breathing evenly, she'd let go of my wrists sometime in the next few minutes, before she rolled off of me, leaving me desperate, and leaking.

Above me, and to the right, I heard the slow clapping sound that ensued as Thom came closer in my peripheral view. "Of the three we met, I think you're the best fit for her."

I got up, my throbbing cock momentarily forgotten, he didn't look to be joking, and he said nothing further, even when my inquisitive eyes followed him as he helped Sera up.

That's when I snapped out of it, moving to bring her the discarded dress and underwear, helping her into them.

She waved me away, only to be chided softly by Thom, "Let him, sweets, when are you going to get a chance to have a boy dress you as he would a free woman?"

And so she allowed herself to be dressed, and let me comb her short blond hair with my fingers, trying to get it back how it was when she came in.

"Mr and Mrs Kershaw will probably send someone for you tomorrow, perhaps tonight, even. Sera only has good things to report," he looked at his companion, "Isn't that right, darling?"

Sera shook my hands away, moving to create space between us before nodding silently, her head bobbing, and eyes looking at the door they came through.


	5. Chapter 5

5

The slave was right, only hours passed before I was collected from my mattress, sent to the showering stalls for the second time that day, before I was given a new set of cloths, very similar to the one I was given that first time, almost identical. That time, however, I know the mistress, had met her, and was picked by her. She had preferred me over all the other boys that were presented with me, had told me I'd make the perfect male companion. Just what she was looking for.

How very different, and how very similar the two experiences are. The Kershaws didn't even bother coming in person, but sent their driver to pick me up, had transferred the money without ever needing to leave their house. 

Kershaw. Her name is Arya Kershaw. 

As much as I was glad to be leaving my training house, for good this time, hopefully. I was equally petrified. House Burnsell had been good to me, too good, if the stories I've heard of other houses were to be believed. We were spoilt rotten, food and sleep all but handed to us on silver platters, trainers giving out measured punishments, only to be administered in the dungeons. In controlled environments. Pleasure was given in abundance, as they'd give silver coins that we could exchange for sweets and extra time off. 

I was just as determined to make that house proud. Just as determined as I was the first time around, perhaps even more so. The only way I could repay what it had given is through good behavior, being the exemplary slave they trained me to be. 

The driver sent to fetch me was in good spirit, he laughed as he walked me to the car parked outside, his first words to me as we were out of earshot were, "You'll have your work cut out for you,"

He was a slave, also. Quite young, however, early twenties, or a little older. Well dressed and seemed in good shape and health. That lifted some of the weight off of my chest. Although I clearly wasn't expecting an abused slave; if they kept a slave like Thom, who clearly didn't look broken nor bent, then they undoubtedly took very good care of their charges.

Still, I listened to every word he said, for I didn't know what could be useful in the upcoming hours. He chatters about everything except what I needed know, however. Telling me about the dogs the family keeps, the cars they bought in the last quarter, "Three, can you believe it? Three new cars in three months. It's like a car every month, as though they were buying cloths."

I couldn't care less about the number of cars they bought, and I had half a mind to tell him that he shouldn't speak so of his better. That he shouldn't speak of his betters, period. It's because of them that we are alive at all, and Earth is still running. Mankind would be perished and we all would be dead if they hadn't intervened when they did. 

I bit my tongue, however, before I could say anything at all. How hypocritical of me; seconds ago, I'd hoped he'd share a gossip or two about the woman who'd own me, that he'd tell me what he knew of her. 

"And the young mistress was livid. That was her brother's car. Older brother, that is."

It was then that I snapped back to reality. Wishing I hadn't spaced out, but the man wasn't looking at me, and so didn't see my desperate expression. There goes nothing, that's what I get when I stop paying attention. She has two brothers, at least, then. One that is older. Where did that leave her, will she be expected to be in charge of her family's business. The couple that met me three days ago clearly weren't employees, but employers. Clearly old money, too, I realized as we reached the closed off property and the guards at the door demanded my driver crack the window open. 

It only took a second, and then the large metal doors were sliding open revealing an asphalt road leading to a house built on higher grounds. Granted, my first mistress's house was grand, too, but it was nowhere near this grand. 

It only made sense, though, since the lower class couldn't possibly afford House Burnsell's products, even used ones like me.

"It overlooks a lake, you know," The slave said, finding my astonishment amusing. "They share it with the neighbors, but still, beautiful. The downstairs kitchen has a view, so slaves takes advantage of it all the time. Not that you'll be there often, I'd imagine she'd be keeping you busy."

That's the second time he's said that. For someone who's supposedly very interested in me, she defiantly isn't showing it, as I was led through richly decorated halls to be presented not to her, but to her mother. 

Mrs Kershaw. 

The woman is checking her tablet when I'm brought into what looked to be her study. The slave who brought me, a girl in a tight black skirt and a white shirt with an apron that looked to be more for aesthetic purposes than protecting her cloths, was excusing herself when Mrs Kershow stopped her.

"It says here the two slaves I sent. I sent no two slaves, Masha." It was presented as a statement, but clearly was a question. She was looking at the female slave, Masha, as if accusing her of orchestrating something behind her back, but them she seemed to realize I was here, too, and she turned to me. "You met Sera, yes?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

"And someone was with her when she came?"

Again, "Yes, Ma'am."

"Who was it, describe them to me."

"His name is Thom, he's-"

But she cut me off, seemingly all too aware of just who Thom is, turning to Masha, "Bring him to me, immediately. The both of them."

The woman nodded, bowing, and scurrying off.

That left me to face the wrath of the mistress of the house alone, but she delicately put the tablet in her hand down, moving around her desk to come closer. "Isaac, was it?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

She wanted to ask more, and I was ready to answer all questions she had. In fact, I was contemplating whether or not I should kneel down and make myself comfortable when Masha came back. Knocking on the door and not waiting for an answer, she pushed it open, followed by Sera, and the man who drove me here today. A man who definitely was not Thom. 

"Sera and Thom, Mistress," Masha said, gesturing.

At least, not the Thom I knew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still looking for a beta reader. Email me at sarahopstan@outlook.com if you're willing.


	6. Chapter 6

6

He presented himself as though, however, nodding at the introduction. Keeping his head down and his hands crossed in front of him, looking sheepish. And when she asked what he was doing where he wasn't ordered, his answer came easy. "Sera was very anxious. Stressed enough that she couldn't take two steps without tripping, I couldn't leave her to it alone." 

When Mrs Kershaw didn't reply immediately, he went on, "I did nothing, though. I did not interfere with the selection."

He didn't interfere alright. But that was only because he wasn't there at all. The mistress of the house wasn't looking at me, however, but at Sera, who was nodding ferociously. 

What was wrong with these people, I wondered. 

They were lying outright, without blinking and with a straight face. To their owner. The woman who literally owned their lives to do with as she wishes. 

Again the driver opened his mouth to spew out more lies. "I only was there for moral support, Ma'am."

If she'd looked at me, she'd know, without a doubt, the lies and the deceit, but she was too preoccupied. Crossing her arms, uncrossing them, glaring at the two slaves alternatively. I wondered if she'd order them disciplined here and now.

There were two kinds of owners, ones that liked to be the ones to give pleasure and give pain, choosing to be an active part of the slave's life and well-being as a whole. And then there are ones who seemingly rose above it all.

From how she'd reacted to seeing the selection of male slaves naked that very first time I'd seen her, it was obvious which owner she was. Nobles rarely dirtied their hands with the task of discipline, anyway, they only ever administered punishments personally to their favorite pets and companions.

And neither of the two present looked like pets to me. One was a driver, and the other perhaps a maid. 

Mrs Kershaw heaved out a sigh, before proclaiming her rule. "You'll both be punished. I'll leave it to the discretion of the overseer to decide how many you each deserve,"

The driver was about to interject, a highly unintelligent move on his part, if you'd ask me, but was silenced with a glare. Smart of him, to heed the obvious warning. 

She turned to me, then, asking, "Is it true, what he said?"

"Sera was nervous," I answered. 

In my peripheral vision, I saw Masha, shaking her head as if to say no. Were all slaves in on it, and hiding it, too, I wondered. 

Discretion was valued in a slave, but not when it came to hiding facts from one's owner. Also, as much as it pained me to admit it, if this whole selection process was all but a charade thought out and executed by the slaves, it meant that I shouldn't be here at all. That an owner hadn't wanted me, and so hadn't brought me here.

And so when Mrs Kershaw raised her eyebrows, waiting for me to continue, I told her everything. 

"Sera came in with another man, but that's not him. I didn't think anything of it because the whole ordeal was unusual. If I may, Ma'am, usually, the owner herself comes anyway--"

She had stopped listening after the part where I told her it wasn't him, I could tell. "You just said it was Thom."

"He presented himself using that name, Ma'am. But he was tall, black hair and blue eyes. He looked nothing like the driver who brought me here."

Behind her, blanched, and clearly surprised, the slaves shared a look of utter disbelief, while the mistress cursed, "Karmichael!" 

She turned to them, and none of them tried defending themselves. It occurred to me then, that by throwing myself into the fire, I had hurt them, too. And wished, perhaps for the first time, that I was from a House less stringent than mine. One that didn't value loyalty and truth above all else. 

I knelt, ready to ask that their punishment be mine. But then she started laughing, loud and noisy and hysterical, as though she couldn't believe what she was hearing. Her laughter soon turned to sobs, heart wrenching and hurt, anguish overtaking her. 

She managed to utter her dismissal of us four, however, and the driver's hand came under my arm, wrenching me up and pushing me out, his grip surprisingly storing, his jaw set, lips in a straight line. 

"Does she hate him, Karmichael?" 

The question sounded so foolish uttered out loud, so trivial. But I couldn't help myself, and I didn't know the right question to ask, especially since I didn't know what had brought this on. 

The driver had left, along with Sera, hand in hand, both shooting death glares my way. Masha had taken me with her to the kitchen, bringing forth lunch that she put in front of me.

Ignoring my question, Masha turned to the cook, the two women whispering for two whole minutes. I stared at the food, then out the the glass that served as a wall, and that overlooked a small lake. It was as pretty as the driver had proclaimed.

"You haven't eaten a bite. You not hungry?" Masha did not sound angry, just agitated, and looking to be in a hurry to rid herself of me. I did not blame her. 

"I am sorry," I said. "When am I to be returned?"

"Where on earth did you get the idea from?"

She didn't look as though she was teasing me. Rather, she looked confused. "I clearly wasn't chosen in accordance to what my mistress had wished, and so it only makes sense that I be returned at the earliest convention."

To my surprise, she smiled, amused. "You're exactly what she'd wished for. Your mistress, that is, and not her mother."

"But--" I sputtered. 

"And she doesn't hate him, Michael, that is," she said. "She's just sad."


	7. Chapter 7

7

Masha didn't elucidate nor explain further, and I didn't try prying more information from her. She left me to my devices after assuring me that I'm wanted and needed, and that she'd come fetch me later in the day, when I'm needed. 

But she didn't come back, hours passed as I watched the kitchen staff prepare dinner, and wait as slaves delivered the empty plates to be cleaned. I offered to help but was told off by the head cook immediately, and told to stay put. 

I could've told her that I was, indeed, capable of doing whatever her underlings were having such a hard time getting done, but refrained. I didn't want to get on anyone's bad graces. I've already made enemies of Sera and and her boyfriend of a driver. Masha didn't seem all too pleased with me either. And I've barely been here for hours. 

Finally, and when all kitchen staff save the one had gone to bed, Sera appeared. She wouldn't meet my eyes, and neither would she speak to me. She motioned for me to follow, and I did, silent as she is. 

She led me to a bedroom, one that was vast enough with a platform bed that takes the entirety of one wall, along with a vanity dresser, both looking modern and up-to-date. Yet other elements feel as if they were plucked from a different era – especially the two chandeliers and the three rugs littered in the space. 

Shades of light cream, complemented with glimmering gold accents dominated the room's colour palette, showcasing one relatively easy way to bring a touch of vintage flair to a bedroom while tying the look together with dramatic flares of metallics like the wall art and the low table beside the fireplace.

Sera moved around me to lead me to the three closed doors to the side, opening the last of the three doors, and motioned for me to go in. It was a store of sorts. One where large, clear plastic boxes with stuffed dolls inside, along with spray paints and brushes and little coloured jars. Canvases, unused and used were kept on racks that went to the ceiling. 

There was space enough in the middle for a person to lay comfortably on the carpeted floor, and that's where she told me to lay. "I'll get you a pillow and a coverlet from the slaves' quarters. If you want."

Her tone clearly suggested that she'd prefer it if I didn't like. "That would be great. Thank you," I said. 

She huffed and puffed, but went to get the items nevertheless. 

If she were to insist on holding a grudge, then that is her business. I could not possibly do anything about it. My loyalties weren't to her, they never were going to be. 

I slept fretfully that nigh, and not because of the hard wood floor underneath the carpet, but because of nerves. She's not here. Arya Kershaw. My Mistress. Where was she, then? Her mother had said that she was travelling to the capital, not that she had already left. And who was this man, Karmichael? An acquaintance of sorts? Was he not a slave? Now that I think about it, I have not seen a slave's tattoo on his wrist. Granted, some houses prefer to imprint their slaves in other places, ass cheek or abdomen or even the hollow of the throat, but still. 

Masha had said that I was just what she'd wanted. Does that mean she was the one to send that Karmichael person, I wondered. But why would her mother become so upset at the mention of his name, if that.was the case.

So many questions, so little information, and no answers. As I said, it was no peaceful night of sleep. 

In the morning, or what I thought was the morning, for there were no windows in the small room and I had no watch on me, Sera came to fetch me. 

I wanted to ask my questions, but from the way she'd snapped at me to tidy up my coverlet and follow her, I'd gathered that she'd be unwilling to answer me, or even acknowledge the fact that I asked anything at all. 

She led me through backdoors and down stairs that had black railing and little light, and into what could only be the common room of slaves. I didn't have time to ponder nor look around, for she ushered me.through another set of doors, "Bathroom. Shower and shave. Then ask someone to bring you to the kitchen for your meal. 

I nodded, and was half tempted to answer, "Yes, Ma'am!" But she wasn't looking at me, and left before I could muster the sarcasm to say it. 

There were five shower stalls, four of which were empty, I went and shed my cloths, had nowhere to put them sung them at the racks lining the walls underneath dry towels. She'd left me no cloths to wear, and hadn't bothered to point to where I can get a clean pair of trousers and a shirt. 

I decided that this was a problem for after the shower. My muscles sore from the night I spent, I hoped I wouldn't have to sleep there everyday. Or at least be given a mattress or a lot of sorts. If there were slave quarters, why hadn't Sera brought me down here, I wondered, were they out of beds. 

My shower was quick, but only because I wanted to catch the other person showering before he disappears, hurriedly plucking a towel. 

He knew who I was before I introduced myself, and agreed to lead me to where I can borrow some cloths, jokingly saying, "Although you won't need it for more than today. After she arrives, I'd imagine she'd want to dress you prettily."

Hesitant, I say, "She's away?"

She must be. What a foolish question to ask. Of course she was. Why else wouldn't she have come to find me? Why else was her room vacated?

His eyes scrutinizing, he groaned as if to say yes.

"Do you know where she's gone to?" I sounded desperate even to my own ears. 

"Skating."

I hoped he'd give me some more context, something that could help me figure out how the dynamic was to be. Perhaps even tell me why her mother had used the time she's gone away skating to buy her a slave, instead of waiting the few days it would take for her to come back. It was as though she'd been waiting for her to go, and the moment she was, she'd run to get said slave. 

But there was no explanation given. He'd already put on his cloths, he spun around, waving his hand as he walked away. "Good luck, you'll need it," he said. 

It couldn't possibly be that bad. It simply couldn't. I was used to both good and bad treatment. My first owner lent me out a couple of times, said I needed the practice. I've tried all kinds of mistresses there is to try. And if I had enough time with each one of them, I had no doubt that I could make them like me enough for me to eventually indispensable. 

Funny when I think about it, because I've had all the time with that first mistress, I've made myself indispensable indeed. She'd allowed me what males of my social standing could never have, showered me with affection and, dare I say, love. 

That didn't stop her family from sending me away at the end, however. I was still thrown out without a chance to make a case for myself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, lovelies, all your comments were so wonderful! I hope to hear more from you soon! And until next time, I hope you enjoy the part Xx


	8. Chapter 8

8

I spent the day between the slaves' quarters and the kitchens. Most were indifferent to me, and I saw no members of the family that owned me. It went on like that, the staff refusing my help, asking me to simply sit and eat, or get out of the way.

I was being told off by one of the kitchen staff when Sera came to fetch me. I knew, even without her saying anything at all, that the young mistress they've all been referring to, the one whom I'm meant for, is finally here. 

I was lead through the same shabby stairs that were kept for slaves' use, and taken to the room I woke up at this morning. Sera knocked once, and not waiting for a reply, opened the door. She didn't give me a chance to even look at the room, for her hand came to my shoulder, pushing me down. I knelt as she wanted, pliant, and keeping my head lowered. 

There was silence, then I heard shuffling, then sock-covered feet stepped into the line of my vision. Petite and attached to exposed to creamy white legs; that was as far as I allowed myself to look, however.

"You've caused quite the turbulence since you've arrived here, Isaac," My name on her lips sounded like sweet honey, that the words that came before that don't register at first, ignored and overlooked, until her voice comes again. "You've made mom cry, gave away Michael, betrayed two of your fellow slaves."

Michael. Karmichael. Again, that man. Who was he to her? Why has she sent him of all people? She hadn't listed his name alongside the slaves'. Does that mean he's not a slave?

She went on, "And Sera hasn't gotten into trouble in years, am I not right, Sera?"

Dutiful, Sera answered, "Yes, Mistress. The last time was when I was seventeen. Eight years ago."

Eight years ago. Was that even possible? Were they too lenient or was she just too obedient. Even at the best of times, be it at the training house or my previous owner's house, not a week had passed where I didn't do something to warrant a punishment. What about discipline, then. Punishment I could get, but didn't she need a reminder of her station and place, every once in a while, I wondered. 

"Sera might've forgiven you, eventually, if it had only been her you've involved. She has the kindest of hearts. But you had to go and get Brian into it, too. She loves him, you know."

I could only imagine that she meant the talkative driver. I wondered if I'll ever be able to speak, to defend or not to defend. Perhaps to just beg forgiveness. Even when I wasn't really sorry. At least, I didn't know what to be sorry for. 

As if hearing my thoughts, she said then, "Go on, then, what have you to say?"

"I only thought I was doing the right thing. I had thought that it would be best if I told the truth. I was taught not to lie, it isn't a virtue I--"

"Brevity would be greatly appreciated," she said, cutting me off.

"I-"

"And if you say I one more time, I'll slap you."

I had no doubt that she would. I nodded. "Yes, Mistress."

She moved away, her feet disappearing from my peripheral vision. "You have the file, Sera?"

"It's with Lady Kershaw, Mistress. In her study." 

"She'd be in bed by now, go get it."

"Yes, Mistress."

I knew what file they were speaking of. The one where everything of me and mine is detailed. Every little accident, every little punishment, everything. 

She went to sit by the fireplace, and a second later, came her voice ordering me to join her. 

Crawling, I followed the command. I knelt by her armchair, my gaze down. She quickly rectified that, however, with a finger crooked underneath my chin, she raised my head. 

I met her eyes, she hadn't ordered me to, but it was clearly implied. Her oval shaped face was framed by dark brown hair that she'd let fall in waves. She was wearing heavy makeup, smoky smudged eyes and dark red lipstick, her thick eyebrows accentuating the look. She did not look particularly pleased nor enchanted by my looks, however. Or perhaps it was simply the fact that my initial words have displeased her. 

"You have beautiful eyes, electric blue," she said. 

"Thank you, Mistress." I hesitated, and she noticed.

"Speak," she said. 

"Shouldn't I have told the mistress of the house of the transaction of slaves, Mistress?"

She laughed, and amused, she said, "You sound ridiculous. Transaction. As though they committed treason."

Too quickly, I said, "They did!" Then amended, "I mean, well--"

"Well?"

"In house Burnsell, they taught us about loyalty, and the power of truth. Hiding facts from owners being the greatest of offenses," I said, watching for the slightest move that would translate as irritation or aggression. There was, of course, the fact that this all being a test of some sort was a possibility, too. 

She hummed, and I didn't know whether to task that as a sign of pleasure or displeasure, and so I tried again. "I had thought the choice of bringing me here was, in fact, invalid."

"You have such a funny way with words," she said, laughing. "Is it because I wasn't there to choose you?"

"And because the opinion of the one who was supposed to choose me was clearly influenced by an outside party; the man who wasn't supposed to be there."

There was a knock on the door. This time, however, Sera waited until she heard the affirmative before she cracked the door open. She was holding the all too familiar stack of papers, which she handed over to her mistress's outstretched hand. 

I had gone back to staring at the carpet, meanwhile, the one protecting my knees, there were swirls of light yellow and brown that I wanted to trace with my fingers, for nothing looked more interesting at the moment. 

She asked Sera to turn the music on, and hummed to the tune as she looked through yellowed paper. These were papers detailing my life, since the day I was born. 

Every minuscule detail allocated with dates and pictures, nothing amiss. I knew that my previous owner had kept it up to date until the end, but there must've been a few months gap where no one had the time to do that, until I went back to Burnsell. 

"It says here you weren't born in Olemina, that explains the accent," she said, conversational. "You were sold to Burnsell at the age of fourteen, a batch of seven boys and girls. Where have you been up to the point?"

It was, undoubtedly, mentioned there somewhere. But I answered anyway, "Breeding farm in Lasatia, Mistress."

"You were bred for pleasure?"

"Not really, Mistress. I was meant for farming, could've been a laborer."

"What went wrong, then?"

I smiled. "If I may, Mistress, it is what went right that led me here. A looter was passing by, and he saw us, liked our colouring, he thought we'd do better at pleasure."

"A looter?"

"That's what my mother called him."

Bewildered, she asked, "You had a mother? My, I didn't know they did things so differently in Lasatia."

A slave, one bred for service, did not have a mother, nor a father. He did not have a family heritage to speak of. That was the way of the world. He was a soldier of the Great Continent, part of the big machine. He had a small part to play, yes. But a part nonetheless. It was what I was taught. What all of us were taught since before we could walk or talk. 

"She was the woman who looked after us, she isn't my birth mother," I said. 

"That makes much more sense," she said. The mistress turned to Sera, waving her away. "That will be all for today, darling."

Sera nodded, but did not bow, and left. 

That left me and her, alone in her room, with the lights dimmed and the air thick. She stood, placing the papers on the table beside her, then offering me a hand. "Come," she said. "Undress me."

I stood, following her direction. My hands were deft, fingers skillful as I unbuttoned the light jacket, then helped move her hair away, to start unbuttoning the dress. I had the urge to run my hands through the dark silky hair, the waves tempting, I didn't. 

Soon, she stood in nothing but the bra, and panties, black lace against pale skin. I knelt, meaning to slip off the long rainbow socks that clashed with the lace, but a hand on mine stopped me as she pulled me with her to the bedspread.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can't wait to know what you think of their first meeting. It was so fun to write!


End file.
